"Holmes, may i introduce Miss Grace Claxton." Watson began, "Miss Claxton, this is Sherlock Holmes." "It's quite a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes." I said, reaching out to shake his hand, but retracting my hand when he did not return the gesture. "I assume that the Doctor has already told you the purpose of my visit." "He has told me that you may have a rather intriugeing case for me, but nothing more." Holmes said steadily. I took a deep breath, and told Holmes of the Yard's failed attempts to regain my father's things and inability to capture the killer.

"And these are all the details you know of?" Holmes said, "Or is it as i believe, and you hide more from me? I must know all of the known facts before i can make any real progress." I paused, should I reveal what had just recently happened, triggering my search for aid? Or should I lie or distract him? I had a feeling he could see through any lies i came up with.

"Oh I have heard of your eye for detail, Mr. Holmes." I said, going for distraction. "What can you tell me about me, other than what I have just finished telling you?" I quiried.

"Well," Holmes began, "I know just by your last name that you come from a military family. The Claxtons have been quite a brave bunch. Your posture tells that you have been to more galas and balls than you care to count. You came here in a very elegant dress, presumably to impress. But the tan lines along your neck and arms show that you usually wear clothing more suited for a man, and that you are out of doors quite a bit.

"Your hands are dryer than most noblewomen's, leading me to believe that you are used to a bit of manual labour. The wear on the riding boots you wore today tell that you do not ride sidesaddle as most women, but astride like a man. The scant makeup on your face leads me to believe the heavy makeup along your jawline and on your neck is hiding scars. From the clotting of the makeup along the scars, they are very fresh and recent cuts. Which leads me to my question to you. Who attacked you, and when did they do it? Those scars are in such places that they would not come by any accident."

For a moment, I sat there, astonished and unable to speak. I had heard of his deductive abilities, but to this extent I had previously doubted his skills. No more. There was no hiding anything from this man. Gathering myself and my scattered emotions, I told the Doctor and Holmes what had transpired the night before, with all of the details that Holmes had desired earlier.

"As you well know, my father was murdered only two days ago, the murderer taking my father's bank book and the deed to our estate. Scotland Yard has tried and failed to gain any ground with this case. Even when I had told them the possible reason for the murderer to take the deed and the bank book." I said, but was interupted by Holmes. All of this interupting was getting irritating. But he so facinated me...

"What reason might that be?" Holmes asked, leaning forwards in his seat, fingers pressed together under his chin. "My father, being the head of communications in his military unit, was always facinated by codes and puzzles. He's always hinted at some fortune that he hid on the property before the war."

I paused. Sherlock's thoughtful expression had not changed, so I took that as my cue to continue. "He said there were three clues to this hidden fortune. The first was 'money', the second was 'property', and the third, well that was the most confusing one out of the lot of them." I said, remembering my father's third and final clue.

"Pray tell what the third clue is." Watson said, Holmes' expression still unwavering. "He would always say that the third and final clue never leaves my sight. But I just don't see how that's possible." I said, still puzzled as ever.

"Intriuging indeed." Holmes said, speaking for the first time in a long while. "Aside from family, was there any other individuals whom your father may have told these clues to? Or possibly what they meant?" "I can think of only one." I said as Holmes leaned back into his chair, running a hand through his dark brown hair. "And?" he said, awaiting my answer. "I can only think of his war-time friend Officer Francis Maloney. He was my father's closest friend aside from the Doctor, and they talked frequently about such things, especially recently."

"Very interesting." Holmes said, standing and beginning to pace the room. "Based on the information you have given me, and my knowledge of Watson's fellow militarymen, I may have a start. But this still does not explain your unnatural scars, and why you hid them." He did have me there. I sighed.

"Last night, just before I was going to bed, a strange man broke into the library, and attempted to kidnap me. Using what i know of self-defense, I resisted enough to ward him off. But he escaped, and I now have scars from the knife he used to try to get me to follow him." "But why hide them?" Watson asked, and Holmes simply rolled his eyes at his partner.

"The lady doesn't want to appear weak, old boy. It's quite obvious that she wants in on the more, how should I say, 'dangerous' part of this case." Sherlock said increduliously, a slight smirk on his face as he turned to me for confirmation. I sighed. "Does nothing escape you, Holmes?" I half-heartedly laughed, assuring myself that Holmes would surely deny me the privilage of coming along.

Holmes definately didn't seem to like the idea of me coming along. He paced the floor more, mumbling to himself. After a while, Holmes piped up yet again. "Very well. You got yourself into this. Watson, would you accompany Miss Claxton to her home. As for you, miss, if you would please change into something more... suited to exersise. I shall go research a lead that I think I may have. Both of you arrive back here at half past one, and I shall meet you with further plans." Holmes grabbed a coat and hat as he walked towards the door. "At half-past one, then?" he called, and then left.